


mother drake (your duckling drowned)

by Anonymous



Series: lavender crowned anon's dream smp collection [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alexis | Quackity-centric, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Gen, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Internal Conflict, Moral Dilemmas, Post-Manburg Festival, Scars, Stream of Consciousness, Temporary Character Death, Winged Alexis | Quackity, he's a duck hybrid!, in which i wanted to write a reunion because quite frankly they deserve it, now featuring a quick part 2!!, quackity is a good guy and grew attached to the double agent child oh no
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27079606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: After the Manburg Festival, Quackity takes a walk alone.The thought keeps coming back to him.(Tubbo was dead. Tubbo had been killed. Tubbo had been executed.)
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt, Alexis | Quackity & Toby Smith | Tubbo
Series: lavender crowned anon's dream smp collection [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1984183
Comments: 13
Kudos: 618
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

_mother drake,_

_mother drake,_

_your duckling drowned._

_a wicked mink grabbed his foot_

_and dragged him down,_

_to the depths of the very lake_

_you float upon now._

* * *

The moon was high, a cool signal in the sky that declared the simple fact that most of Manburg was asleep. Asleep, somehow, despite the events that took place during their anticipated festival.

Quackity was not one of them.

He had shed his suit hours ago, now dressed in a much more comfortable sweater and pants combo as he walked silently through the streets. He didn't know where he was going, but seeing as he couldn't sleep, he allowed himself to wander. His usual grin was absent without an audience to see it, and his wings were curled close to his body to protect himself from the slight chill. 

Quackity's gaze remained on the ground, not willing to raise it to catch glimpses of the nation he supposedly governed. He wasn't someone who was fond of thinking too hard about things, but it was inevitable when so many things happened in such a short amount of time. The ugly camarvan (to be demolished, to be replaced with a new hotel), the White House ( _his_ White House, that he built himself with Tommy and Wilbur, and was going to be torn down for no reason if he didn't stop it), the podium-

Tubbo's execution site. 

_Tubbo_.

Quackity bit his lip, glaring daggers at the dirt path as he balled his hands into fists. He really didn't want to think about it, but he had nothing better to do at this time of night, did he? 

He had known that Schlatt had been planning something alongside the festival. Hell, he had even known that Tubbo was to be punished for treason - it was why he was able to build that fucking box so quickly. But he had kinda assumed that they were just going to send Tubbo to jail, like Niki, until he learnt his lesson, or got it out of his system or- or _something_.

He didn't think it would end as a public execution. 

And why should he?! Why should he have thought that to be an option? Sure, Schlatt was harsh, with questionable ideals, but the extent of his punishments so far had been exile and imprisonment, both of which didn't come anywhere close to a _death penalty_. How was he supposed to know that Schlatt would suddenly jump to an extreme?

(He kept telling himself that Tubbo deserved it, that he betrayed the nation and that he must have known he was risking his life by pulling that double agent bullshit but Quackity couldn't lie to himself like that. He knew full and well that Tubbo didn't deserve it in the slightest.)

Quackity was mercifully distracted from his thoughts by the sound of thumping in the distance. He paused, blinking and looking up to gauge where he was. It seemed his legs had taken him to the docks, the waves crashing lazily against the support of the piers as the water reflected silver licks of moonlight. He breathed in deeply, a moment of calm washing over him, before he walked down the docks in search of the source of the thumping. 

Quackity froze as he easily spotted the irregularity of the scene; a small army of white dogs sat unsupervised at one end of the pier, tails wagging slowly and sitting obediently in wait.

(He remembered a joint free day of his and Tubbo's a few weeks ago, one that Schlatt had spent holed up in his office all day, leaving the two of them to do whatever they wanted. They ended up plotting to start a drug dog cartel just outside Manburg territory, the location chosen so that Techno and Tommy could join in. Sure, they never ended up starting the drug dog cartel properly due to some shenanigans, but it had been a fun day, and Quackity had found that he and Tubbo worked pretty well as a team.)

He felt numb as he started walking towards them, the dogs looking up expectantly at him as he approached, tails wagging faster. They must have recognised him. 

He sat himself down in the center of the walkway, cross-legged, and grinned weakly at his canine audience. "Hey, I haven't seen you guys in a while! What are you doing out here?"

He got a few barks in response, but not much else apart from some of the dogs sat closer to him leaning over to sniff him. Quackity sighed, shoulders slumping as he looked out over the sea. He wanted to rant to these dogs, get everything out just so he could return to his usual happy-go-lucky nature come morning, but the walls had ears nowadays and anything that left his mouth had no guarantee of being left private. He really didn't think he wanted to risk anything without a solid plan behind him, not after what happened to Tubbo.

God, _Tubbo_.

It kept coming back to that, didn't it? Because regardless of the reason or the fact that they could respawn, the experience had been harrowing for Quackity who had been a surprised observer, let alone Tubbo, who had been directly under the executioner's spotlight.

Tubbo, who had been trapped within a confined space (Quackity winced at his involvement) and had been clearly confused.

Tubbo, who had asked what was happening and to be let out, acting like the imprisonment was some strange mistake as desperation and panic took over his tone.

Tubbo, who had to deal with Schlatt openly berating him in front of a huge crowd of shell shocked bystanders, his voice growing louder and angrier with every passing second.

Tubbo, who had watched with fear in his eyes as Technoblade loomed over him with a crossbow held in subtly quivering hands, goaded on by Schlatt's yelled demands despite his stalling. 

Tubbo, who was _sixteen years old-_

FUCK!

Fuck. Damnit. 

Quackity let out an incredulous wheeze, looking down to see his fingers trembling. Taking another look at the water, it took him less than a second to make his decision, scrambling to take off his shoes and roll up his pants before scooting over to the edge of the planks. 

He plunged his feet into the water with a splash, leaning back against his hands as he sighed, stretching his webbed toes out. Call it duck instincts or whatever, but the water always seemed to help calm him, just a little. He closed his eyes, focusing on the sound of the slow movement of water, before his attention was snatched by a wet nose nudging his wing.

He stretched his wings out as he smiled weakly down at the dog sitting beside him, looking up at him expectantly. He reached out, patting the dog's head as he chuckled. "Sorry, bud, I don't have any meat on me."

The dog nudged his palm before leaving Quackity to his internal dilemma. He frowned, swinging his legs through the water as he watched it slosh around his calves. 

He liked Tubbo. Really, he did. The kid was great fun to be around, could be a real little devil once you got to know him, and admittedly Quackity had grown a little attached. Maybe that was because he empathised with him, because they were both stuck under Schlatt's thumb whether they liked it or not. Maybe that was because he pitied him, because Schlatt seemed to get a kick out of picking on Tubbo specifically.

So then why, why hadn't he stopped the horror that had unfolded _right in front of him?_

* * *

_did you try to save him?_

_with words and shrieks and gasps?_

_did you try to shield him?_

_with wings and beak and heart?_

* * *

Sure, he had tried. Had been one step below pleading with Schlatt as he asked him if he was sure about it, but couldn't he have done more? Couldn't he have called the entire thing off, or freed Tubbo, or done something that wasn't just putting out some cheap words that did nothing to defend?

For fuck's sake, he was supposed to be the vice president! He should have had the authority to put his foot down and say that no, they weren't going to hold a public execution that had been disguised as a nice little festival, because that was fucked up!

(Tubbo had been so excited for that damn festival, he had been so proud of the effort he had put into it. He had been practically vibrating with energy in the hours leading up to it, and while Quackity had felt a little guilty at the time because he knew a confrontation was coming eventually, he felt downright horrified when he realised Tubbo had been excited for what was, essentially, his own funeral.)

But he didn't, because at the end of the day, vice president was an empty title. Quackity was pretty sure that both the nation and the president saw him as little more than Schlatt's glorified hype-man, or bitch, or something equally degrading, and he hated it. 

He almost hated it as much as he hated himself for being a coward. 

Quackity sniffed, ignoring the burning at the back of his eyes as he silently rolled up his right pant leg further, inspecting the darkened patch of skin in the dim lighting. He wasn't really upset over getting killed in the blast with Tubbo, because that was the best thing that could have happened to make his guilt feel less heavy, but he had really gotten lucky with the respawned scars. The darkened burns were faint enough, and only really affected his left arm and leg, along with a small portion of his face and ear. His left wing was sore, and some of his feathers burned off, but it looked fine. Schlatt, who had been facing the deed but still stationed to the side, had scars on his right that spread over his chest.

Quackity hadn't seen Tubbo since.

(He almost didn't want to, because Tubbo was the one who dealt with the brunt of the attack and he could only imagine how the scars would land when killed in such a small space. Another part of him was horribly, morbidly curious. God, he must have been _terrified_ , staring a crossbow down with nowhere to go.)

Being killed by Tommy again directly after respawning hadn't been as annoying as one would think, but that was probably because it felt justified after the boy's best friend had just been brutally killed in front of him, whether he was allowed to be there or not.

Speaking of which, Quackity had admittedly been very hasty to call attention to Tommy and send the crowd after him, but he felt like that, at least, was fair. Tommy was exiled, as was Wilbur. They knew they were risking repercussions by returning.

(And Tubbo did too, he half heartedly tried to justify, but it isn't the same. No, no, it _is_ the same - the fact of the matter is that even if Wilbur and Tommy returned without permission, they wouldn't have deserved a dramatic public execution in front of everyone either.)

A gust of wind broke his chain of thoughts yet again, acting as a brilliant reminder that he really didn't want to think about it at all. He ruffled his feathers in time with his shiver as he pulled his feet out of the water, carelessly shaking them off before pulling his shoes back on.

He didn't know what time it was, but he wasn't falling asleep on his feet yet, so he made an impromptu detour into the forest at the outskirts of the nation, searching for a flower patch. He focused on the task at hand to distract his tired mind, and eventually had to settle for a couple blue tulips. He had been hoping to find some alliums, but that would have been too convenient for him.

Quackity trekked back into Manburg, still keeping his eyes downwards to avoid anything from sparking another personal crisis. He had enough of thinking and dwelling for one night. 

What's done is done, no matter how much he thought about it now.

He stopped by the grave Fundy had constructed for Tubbo under his instruction. It was small, but respectable enough for a supposed traitor. Quackity knelt down in front of the empty grave, placing the handful of blue tulips down and muttering a Spanish prayer under his breath, hoping it would reach Tubbo wherever he was hiding out now.

He stood up once he was done, glancing at the sign that he had written a few hours prior, under the watch of both Fundy and Schlatt. He had been joking when he wrote it, as he usually was, but under the cover of night, he hated the look of those words in his handwriting. 

Following an impulse, Quackity ended up scratching the 'traitor' out from beside Tubbo's name and correcting the birth year. If Schlatt ever noticed it changed, he could always just pin it on someone else, though he had a pretty good feeling that the president wasn't going to be going anywhere near this mini graveyard anytime soon.

In a way, he supposed the execution was a small mercy in the fact that it freed Tubbo from his responsibilities in Manburg. He wouldn't have to worry about the whims of a controlling dictator anymore as long as he stayed away.

When Quackity finally returned home shortly afterwards, the horizon was beginning to lighten, but he felt steady. Perhaps not calm, certainly not satisfied, but...steady. 

* * *

_why,_

_mother drake,_

_mother drake,_

_how is it that your duckling drowned_

_under your very own watchful gaze?_

* * *

And if the next day, Quackity found himself finally deciding he'd had enough after one too many arguments and one too many insults, and ended up having the small satisfaction of shooting a taunting Schlatt with the same front facing shot as Tubbo had to endure? If he found himself running into Tommy as he fled into the woods in a panic, and ended up being tentatively welcomed into Pogtopia with the joint mission of overthrowing the president?

Well, that was something for future Quackity to deal with.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With an alliance shift comes a reunion.

Shooting Schlatt had been cathartic for all of seven seconds before Quackity realised that _holy fuck, he had just shot the president._

The panic had set in pretty quickly. Schlatt would respawn in a few hours, and then there'd be hell to pay, and he had already reached his limit with that man. Quackity scrambled to put his crossbow away with twitching fingers, looking around for witnesses before his eyes locked onto the hills, hiding the surrounding forest. 

He began to sprint towards it without a second thought, thoughts rushing as he reached up to frantically yank his tie loose. 

_He used me_. 

It was something Quackity had always vaguely known, but now it was fully dawning on him and he hated it. He always knew that Schlatt didn't give a shit about him, or Manburg, but he had been happy to fool himself. To imagine that he hadn't made a terrible mistake when he made that deal all those weeks ago. 

Quackity hadn't meant to run into Tommy. He certainly hadn't woken up this morning planning to join Pogtopia, but he found that he didn't regret it at all. Fooling around with Tommy had made him feel light again, the heaviness on his shoulders lifting for a little bit. Wilbur's little meltdown with the button that supposedly held the power to blow Manburg up in an instant was terrifying, granted, but he and Tommy had managed to talk him out of it, and they even started planning how to overthrow Schlatt! 

He was going to overthrow Schlatt. 

The idea almost made him giddy. 

* * *

There was something equally thrilling and terrifying about being undercover on enemy territory, Quackity realised. He could get caught at any minute - and he knew from experience that the consequences would be bloody - but there was a comfort to knowing he had a way out that made it easier to deal with Schlatt's bullshit. 

Is this why Tubbo took Schlatt's harsh words and orders so easily, with head down and hands behind his back? 

Hah. Ironic that Schlatt's closest staff ended up both succumbing to double agency. Maybe the ram expected it to happen, held some self-awareness of his own sadism - maybe that's why he was so unwilling to share power and plans. 

Technically, Quackity had resigned as vice president, and Schlatt was pretty fond of verbal contracts so his words alone counted, but he was welcomed back into Manburg regardless with a little sheepish and completely disingenuous apology on his part. He was surprised at how little consequence he faced, but Quackity wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he kept his surprise to himself. 

Still, he was excited to get an opportunity to meet Tommy in the forest and take the trek back to Pogtopia, back to a taste of freedom. He messaged Tommy as soon as Schlatt had dismissed him, something about having a meeting with those responsible for the construction for the new hotel. Quackity didn't complain about being excluded, not when he had something more fun to be doing. 

He changed into an infinitely more comfortable jacket and jeans before hiding his suit away in a hollow tree trunk, in case he needed to rush back, and waited for Tommy to come pick him up, sending the boy his coordinates. He arrived a few minutes later, atop a familiar black horse, and held out a hand with a wild grin. Quackity grinned back, taking his hand and hauling himself up onto the horse. 

"So, Big Q, how's the asshole in charge doing?" Tommy asked conversationally as he set the horse into motion, and Quackity snorted loudly, shaking his head. 

"Acting like a piece of shit, being senile, the usual." He sighed, enjoying the sharp bark of laughter that escaped Tommy's throat. "He's really invested in this new hotel idea. Honestly, I'm a bit surprised he cares about it so much, but I guess he's a businessman through and through. Can't resist the idea of property, and a money-maker on top of that?" Quackity let a long whistle, raising an eyebrow. "He's sold." 

"Gonna be real poetic when we kill him in there, huh?" Tommy huffed, sparing Quackity a glance over his shoulder with a smile. Having only been to Pogtopia a single digit number of times, he was impressed that Tommy could seemingly navigate through the forest with such little concentration given to the actual riding. "That's still the plan, isn't it? You think you can actually do it?" 

"What, get him to a private location?" Quackity raised a cocky brow, waving a hand. "Please, we both know I'll be able to convince him with my fat ass." He cracked up, giggling as he saw Tommy's face scrunch up with thinly veiled disgust. "Don't worry, man, I've got it. Now, enough about me, how're you? We nearly there?" 

"Don't be fucking impatient! Gimme another thirty seconds." Tommy leaned forward, as if urging the horse to move faster, clearly taking the question as a playful challenge. Quackity snickered, but was pleasantly surprised when they actually did break through the treeline to the area he recognised hid Pogtopia's entrance. Tommy hopped off, so he followed suit, watching the other guide the horse into the pit that substituted for a crude stable. "I've been doing alright, I guess. It gets a bit boring, though, when everyone's busy. Not a lot for me to do." 

"What? The legendary Pogtopia doesn't have any entertainment? I think an underground ravine base is the perfect venue for some crazy parties." Quackity teased, following Tommy as he began to break the dirt down, revealing their small entrance room. Tommy gestured for him to go ahead with his shovel, childishly sticking his tongue out at him and Quackity did as told, careful to maneuver his wings within the edges of the crumbling dirt. 

"Yeah, if only we had the resources. It'd be the greatest party anyone's ever seen!" Tommy joked as he turned around to replace the dirt behind them. Quackity chuckled, shaking his head as he began to descend the stairs, not bothering to wait for Tommy when the boy could easily catch up later. The way Pogtopia had been built was definitely rough, but there was a sort of charm to walking down stone stairs and across wood planks above a sheer drop. It felt exciting! 

Quackity was nearly at the bottom of the ravine when he froze, watching a figure emerge from one of the many passages in Pogtopia as his breath hitched. He knew he'd be here - in fact, he was surprised he didn't see him sooner, but it still felt unreal. 

"Tubbo." He breathed, and though he knew Tommy was following him down the staircase, he ignored him entirely as he stumbled forward blindly, reaching out for the boy. 

When he crossed the distance, his hands settled on Tubbo's cheeks, cupping his face. His eyes scanned over his appearance - a long sleeved green button up, scuffed trainers, and pants with dirtied knees and naturally unkempt hair. More importantly, the boy looked less pale, and despite the burns that marred both sides of his face, he seemed more alive. Quackity looked to his eyes last, worried he'd find disgust or anger, even though he knew it was unlikely from Tubbo. 

They seemed a little brighter than the last time he saw them, and only held surprise. If he was daring enough, he might think that Tubbo was happy to see him as he cracked a smile, clearly confused as he reached up, his fingertips skimming Quackity's wrists. "Hey, Big Q." 

And that was it. 

Quackity threw his arms around Tubbo, pulling him close to his chest as one hand cradled the back of his head. His wings stretched out and wrapped around the two of them protectively, an extension of the embrace, and he almost teared up as he felt Tubbo slowly return the hug, just as tight. 

"I'm so sorry." He whispered, relishing in the warmth of the boy in his arms and the fact that he was okay, scarred and all. 

"You don't need to be." Tubbo murmured back, leaning into him further, and Quackity, for a gentle moment, relished in their peace. 

" _Mi patito_." He mumbled into Tubbo's hair, near inaudible. 

(Later, Tommy would playfully poke and taunt the both of them, try and figure out what all that was about, but for now, he silently went to rearrange the nearby chests and left them to their reunion. He was sensitive enough to do that, at least.)

**Author's Note:**

> hello :)
> 
> Quackity's character is super interesting to me, and the fact he kept bringing up the fact that Tubbo was dead like he was dwelling on it, alongside my craving for big bro Quackity content, made me write this!! I began writing this before the streams yesterday, but I added a little nod to them at the end because I'm really excited by the development of Quackity's character. You go, you funky duck, plot to kill the dictator!!
> 
> I changed a few minute details for story's sake (like the drug dog cartel happening on the outskirts of Manburg and not in the direct center) and took liberty with the dynamic between Quackity and Tubbo, but otherwise, I tried to keep it relatively within canon boundaries. I hope you guys liked it, and thank you for reading!


End file.
